nine2five 2,15 Moving On
by Marc Vun Kannon
Summary: Frost returns home, to the arms of her loving family, while Vivian Volkoff takes the first steps of her revenge.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N **Posting a bit early. Tomorrow I'll be in Collingswood NJ for their Book Festival. It's a 16 hour day starting at 4:30 AM so I'll have no time to do this tomorrow. This episode will be a bit of a break from all the spy shenanigans. Time to deal with the aftermath, and some of the real life that got put on hold.

* * *

"_Orion grew up and moved on."_

"_The best place to hide something from a spy is in plain sight."_

"_No agent succeeds alone, Mary."_

"_We'll be here."_

* * *

At a secure facility somewhere in England...

"I'd like to see my father, please."

The man at the desk was polite but not particularly responsive to the sight of an attractive young woman smiling at him. "His name?"

"Winterbottom. Hartley Winterbottom."

His lip quivered. "You're joking. No one names a person that."

She _looked_ at him. His incipient laughter choked to a stop.

"I'll just check, then." He looked at his screens for a good while before he turned back to the young woman and said, "I'm sorry miss, we have no record of anyone named Winterbottom at this facility."

"Fudge." Her face crumpled, but he was immune to that too. Her shoulders slumped, the picture of defeat. "Thank you."

He nodded. "Good day, miss."

The young woman left the building, rounded the corner, and headed for the taxi stand.

"You're being followed," said a voice in her ear. "We count three."

"About bloody time," snarled Vivian, pitched too low for the microphone to pick it up. "I'll head to the flat on Gregory. Prepare for tonight."

* * *

At a secure facility somewhere in America...

"I'd like to see my mother, please."

The attendant smiled up at him. "Good morning, Mr. Bartowski. I'll call to see if she's available."  
Of course she was, Chuck knew his mother's schedule, but trying to break the attendants of their rituals was an exercise in futility. "Certainly." Maybe things were different in other facilities, but when you had spies for your clientele, a few extra precautions sounded like a good idea.

As always, the check ended with "You're all set, sir." She handed him a sticker, and pointed the way, knowing that he already knew it. As he approached the door it buzzed and he pushed through.

"Hey, Juan."

"How you doing, Special Agent?" said Juan. It was a bit of a joke between them. The first time Juan asked Chuck his name, not only had Chuck pulled the old James Bond routine, but he gave himself a promotion to boot. That Chuck had since earned the promotion for real just made it better.

"When I find out I'll let you know."

Juan gave him a funny look, but waved him on his way. In this section the doors were usually kept shut, often locked, but Mary Bartowski's door was always open. Unlike most of her fellows on this level, she was here voluntarily, part of her decompression. For twenty years she'd worked alone, immersed in a group of people, mostly men, with a decidedly skewed worldview. With the fall of Volkoff, and the end of one of the longest covert operations in CIA history, assistance was provided (and to some extent mandated) to bring her back into what was considered to be normal society.

Despite the open door, Chuck knocked politely. "Hi, Mom, Doc. What are you doing?"

Mary put the dice down. "I'm introducing Dr. Dreyfus to one of Alexei's favorite games, a Russian version of Risk called 'All Yer Base', don't ask me why."

Chuck didn't have to. "I've never heard of that one. We should have you and Casey over for game night."

"That's an excellent idea, Chuck. You should do exactly that," said Dreyfus.

"You looking for an invite too, Doc?"

Dreyfus shook his head. "Not at all, this is purely professional. The stylized behaviors of a game are very indicative of a patient's status, and they serve as a diversion to let you study your subject in a more natural setting, without being too obvious about it."

_Now_ you tell her. "And what does this game tell you about my mother?"

"That she's going stir crazy, but is willing to tolerate my ridiculous requests if it will get her out of here one day sooner." Dreyfus swept his tokens from the board. "Mary, this is an awful game. Go home."

She looked pleased, but surprised. "You're discharging me?"

Dreyfus took her hand in his. "Agent Bartowski, everything you've done for the past twenty years has been to protect, but ultimately to return to, your family. I can think of nothing better for you than to be with them now." He gestured at Chuck. "If anyone can bring you up to speed on popular culture, he can. If anyone can withstand and assist you with the occasional stumble along the way, it would be him and his wife. And they're in the Need-To-Know pool, so you see, it's a no-brainer."

She saw. "Let me get packed."

"You're not packed already?" asked Chuck.

"Chuck," said Dreyfus imperatively. "Can I speak to you out in the hall, while your mother gets her things?"

It wasn't really a request. Dreyfus shut the door. "Chuck–"

Chuck put a finger to his lips, and attached a ticker to the door, just in case. "Okay, Doc, shoot."

"Chuck, the odds are very good that your mother will never be an active field agent again. I'm counting on you and Sarah to help her transition into a different life, a new role."

Chuck ran his fingers through his hair nervously. "You know, Doc, when most people say 'hit me with your best shot, I can take it', it's usually just a figure of speech…"

Dreyfus nodded. "Yes, well, fortunately, you're not 'most people'. She'll need your help, being a spy is all she knows. You need to help her get out of that mindset whenever possible."

Great. He had to stand up to his mother. "Shouldn't you be doing that here…?"

"She needs to be able to relax." Dreyfus spread his hands, indicating the facility as a whole. "We have too much security she doesn't control."

_Way to push the buttons, Doc._ "Gotcha."

"She'll do fine, Chuck. I knew your mother was ready to go the day she finished unpacking."

"Uh, what day was that?"

"About ten days after she started. She'd been going back and forth for a very long time, but that day I knew she'd made up her mind, at least for now."

"Made up her mind about what?"

Dreyfus patted him kindly on the shoulder. "Mothers unpack, Chuck, spies don't."

* * *

Inside a command vehicle, somewhere in England…

Vivian was no spy, she hired people for that. Plenty of operatives got cashiered for any number of reasons, skills intact and looking to use them. Thank God no one had yet figured out a way to make removable skills, think what that would do to the mercenary market.

She shook off that nightmare, so she could watch the people she employed use their skills in her service. Father was always warning her about subordinates, especially those with ability. They had to be carefully controlled, otherwise they might start looking after their own interests instead of hers, and she couldn't allow that.

All she wanted was her father back, not too much to ask, but the British Government seemed to think so. They'd certainly tied enough cans to her tail, or thought they had. A smile flickered across her face at the thought of all those ever-so-loyal agents cooling their heels, watching her empty little bed-sitter.

They would be the lucky ones tonight.

"Movement on the dock."

"Miss Volkoff, Agent Smith reports activity at the flat."

The movement on the loading dock was what they expected, so she turned her attention to the unusual. "What sort of activity?"

"Enemy at the gates."

"What, take me while they move him?"

"A perfect distraction, is how they look at it," said the leader of the operation. "Probably hit us with decoys while they've got you busy. The usual tricks."

"Decoys?" She didn't have the men for that. "How will you know which one?"

"That's simple, they all are, that's why I sent you in when I did. They need to move him, but they have no time to gather resources. We're waiting for shift change." He tapped a monitor, showing the front gate. "I expect a group of men to clock out together. It'll be the man at the center of that group that you want to get a hold of."

* * *

Back at Chuck's place…

"I just can't imagine Starbuck as a girl."

"I know, right," said Chuck, turning the wheel, toward a driveway made of brick, lined with flowers. The house beyond matched the entrance.

"That pile just invites an attack."

"It does stick out, doesn't it?" said Chuck as he reversed into his own driveway. "Not at all in keeping with the neighborhood's rustic aesthetic."

"Very true. I'd blow it up for that alone." Mary unbuckled her seatbelt as the car stopped, but didn't try the door. "So what's wrong with Sarah?"

Fortunately the car was already stopped, or the garage door would have suffered. "Nothing," said Chuck. "She's perfectly fine. Just a little…clingy." A clingy spy.

"A little? Chuck, she broke out of a maximum-security holding facility. Twice. To do what?"

"To, um, crawl into bed and sleep with me?" He'd managed to bring her back, but only the first time. After that just about everyone recognized the therapeutic value of keeping them together. Dreyfus sending his mother home early was just more of the same, except she probably had a different definition of clingy. A clingy maternal spy. _Oh, God._

"Exactly."

"She gets nightmares."

"Thank you."

"So if you knew that, why ask the question?" He popped the door and got out.

She got out and continued the harangue right in the driveway. "Because, being …" She looked around "…what I am, I noticed she wasn't with you today, unlike the last twelve."

Right. Here we go. "Couldn't that be a good, what's-_right_-with-Sarah sort of possibility?" he asked mildly, leaning against the car, looking all relaxed. "We've really got to get you a more cheerful outlook on life."

He caught her with her mouth open, and for a second she just stood there. Then she closed her mouth, put her hands in her pockets, and inquired pleasantly, "Okay, what's right with Sarah?"

Chuck smiled. "Her friend Hannah's getting married tomorrow, today's the rehearsal."

"She's in the party?" asked Mary, who somehow never really thought of Sarah as having normal friends, with normal concerns.

"Matron of honor," said Chuck.

Mary came around the car toward him. "I wish I could have seen the bachelorette party."

"Sarah brought in Ellie, as a consultant." He fumbled his keys out of his pocket. "Carina offered to help, but they declined. Politely."

Mary smiled. If Casey hadn't pushed Carina to commandeer some clothes, she'd have gone from the Contessa to the Lord Roger with a smile on her face and very little else on the rest of her. And she'd _been_ Sarah's ironically-named maid of honor, so trying to bump her off that assignment wouldn't have flown. "Should I ask?"

"You don't have to, we saved the better headlines in our photo album."

She'd pulled out most of their albums weeks before, partly to read but mostly to camouflage the little book of pictures she left behind. "I must have missed that one."

"Well, come on in, we'll get you settled and you can read all about it with a nice mug of tea." He unlocked the door into the house.

"I hate tea."

Probably something Volkoff drank a lot of. "Did I say tea? I meant coffee."

"Of course you did. And maybe after we're done with all that, you can tell me this deep dark secret you've been keeping all day."

"Mom?"

"Spy, Chuck. Remember?"

* * *

Staying in the car, in England…

Quitting time. Men went in, men came out, slightly more out than in. The guard station was temporarily overwhelmed, as an ambulance, a courier van, and a laundry truck all tried to exit at once. The video was crap, but her team lead was able to identify them all for her.

"Laundry?" said Vivian. "At this hour?"

The leader gave her an amused grin, but he was too busy on his radio to talk. "Speed-demon, come around from the North."

"The one direction the decoys _haven't_ gone," said Vivian, trying to keep up.

The leader nodded. "There we are," he said, pointing at the monitor on his laptop. "Four men carpooling, three in the back and one driver." He passed on the make and model of the vehicle to the incoming team.

Vivian sat still for a few minutes, but finally her patience gave out. "What are they waiting for?"

"For us to commit," said the leader. His radio clicked twice. Speed-demon was in position. "All right, gents, take them down."

Three loud explosions sounded in the distance, in three different places. The sedan in the parking lot pulled out even as the speaker announced, "Movement at the flat!"

"We aren't really attacking them?" asked Vivian urgently. This was supposed to be a peaceful operation. The flat was only rigged with gas grenades.

"No," said her chief henchman dismissively. "Just a few VI axle-busters. We scattered them around the approaches."

Vivian smiled. The little magnetic mines would sound like a team of gunners, disabling the vehicles without actually harming the occupants. Making her point but without making more of an enemy out of the SIS than she had to. "And the target?"

"Heading north, as expected. Looks like he's making a right turn. Thought they might."

"Why?"

"Look at the map," he said, unfolding a paper copy and pointing to one section. "That part of the city's all straight lines, can see an attack coming a mile away."

"Then won't they see your car as it comes?"

"Yeah, I expect they will. You still buckled in, Miss?"

Vivian turned and looked out the window of the vehicle they were commanding the operation from. A car was waiting to turn into the oncoming lane just ahead of them. He couldn't be serious. "A car this size?"

"Packs a wallop, she does. She's all engine, gets the armor going."

Her father was in that car.

She looked back at the leader. _In for a penny…_"Well?"

He nodded approvingly. "You heard the lady, Miles."

* * *

Sitting on the sofa, drinking coffee...

"It'll never happen."

"Mom, what did we say about that positive outlook?"

"Chuck, it's not about my outlook. You and Sarah? Great. Ellie and Devon? Fabulous. I'm just vibrating with positivity over here."

"I thought that might be the coffee."

"It _is_ more caffeine than I'm used to, but mostly it's just you. This is like a dream to me, a miracle."

"So extend the miracle."

She smiled at his faith, so much like his father, always looking for the bright side. "I'll call General Beckman in the morning and thank her, Chuck, but don't expect anything else. I'd settle for reinstatement, but that means back pay, and this much back pay will raise eyebrows, and when eyebrows get raised in Washington doors shut very fast."

* * *

Volkoff Industries, in Moscow...

The doors were locked, the lights were out. The scattered papers had long since settled to the floor, and the dust had long since started settling on the scattered papers. Dustcloths had been rather haphazardly thrown across the larger items of furniture. Everything about the place said this company was closed for business and would likely stay that way for a very long time.

The yellow tape was a nice touch.

Volkoff was dead. Killed by his enemies, said some. Betrayed by his friends, said others. His empire was up for grabs, and claimants had come out of the woodwork to do the grabbing.

Only to find there was nothing to grab. Electronic transactions, virtual accounting, non-existent warehouses for non-existent stock. The Volkoff Empire was not an empire of people and things but of connections, and no one but him knew where those connections were. They couldn't even find his wealth, but the search for it had long since left his abandoned office behind.

The woman stepping over, under, and through the yellow tape wasn't looking for his wealth, wasn't trying to claim his empire. She didn't want her father's business, she wanted her father, but it looked like she would never see either of them again.

The assault had gone off like clockwork, the little car accelerating to insane speeds even as the other car turned crossed into the other lane, its broadside open for just a few seconds. Their little car rammed it in the back, coming away with barely a dent as the larger vehicle was rendered into scrap.

Speed-demon skidded right in next to the wreck as the command car drove away to the pick-up. Men got out, threw open the doors of the sedan, and extracted the stunned Hartley from the very clutches of his equally-stunned captors. They gently (as mercenaries define the word) placed him in the back of their own vehicle and followed the command car to the pick-up, a large black moving van with the gate down as it moved.

Speed-demon drove up the gate and stopped right behind the command car as the gate rose. Vivian was already out of the smaller car, holding an ice-pack on the back of her neck but otherwise uninjured. With not a lot of room to maneuver, she got into the speed car as the extraction team got out. She gently (as daughters define the word) brushed the hair back from his face. "Father?"

He seemed to get his wits together, focusing on her at last.

"It's me," she said soothingly. "Vivian."

"Who?"

"Vivian," she said again, heart sinking. She'd seen that face before. He'd demonstrated his 'Gregory Tuttle' persona for her, but she found the transformation of her powerful father into that shambling pathetic shell to be unsettling rather than amusing. Not as unsettling as it was now. "My name is Vivian MacArthur," she said, offering her more civilian name, one that Hartley might recognize.

"Hello," he said amiably. "Any relation to Jane MacArthur? I had such a crush on her…"

"My mother."

"I thought so, you're the very image of her." Hartley smiled at some memory. "How is she?"

"She died, long ago," said Vivian bluntly. "I never knew her."

Hartley's face collapsed in lines of sorrow. Not faked. "Oh, I am sorry. I hope she didn't suffer."

Surely that wasn't an apology. Her father never apologized. "She met a man who took what he wanted," she said.

He clasped her hand gently. "You have my most heartfelt sympathies, my dear."

Vivian shot him, one dart to the chest. Hartley never even knew it as he passed out. "Take him away."

"Kill him?"

"No." Mouse or not, he was still her father. "Leave him somewhere, they've got to have trackers looking. They'll find him."

Now, sitting at her father's desk, she wondered if they ever had. She swept a hand across the desk, testing the thickness of the dust, her fingers slightly aware of the ridge of the hole where the Hydra apparatus sat, useless now. The eye smashed. He'd tried to smash it himself. She reached out to touch the statue that he'd wanted to use, a horse much like Artemis. She tried to pick it up.

It wouldn't budge. Her father had lifted it easily but now it seemed part of the desk itself. She twisted it, and felt some give. When had her father had this bric-a-brac mounted? Why?

She felt along the base, and found a little hollow in the metal. She probed it with her finger, but it was no hole, just an irregular dimple. She moved the curtains aside and took a closer look. It wasn't a dimple, no simple flaw in the metal. It was an inverse image.

She pulled out her one remaining treasure from her father, the locket he'd given her so many years ago. _Love, Daddy_, it said, on the back.

Her father was always so practical with his affections. She pressed the front of the locket into the hole. The horse began to turn, its raised hoof pointing.

Inside the wall, she heard a click.

* * *

**A/N2 **The idea that Frost would be given no downtime, no therapy for what had to be a monster case of PTSD, is just another ridiculous notion in the long line of ridiculous notions that makes up the majority of season 4. I'll try to be fluffier next chapter, but with Vivian in Moscow that may not last long.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N **A little early. I had a holiday this week and got a lot done. This episode is being driven by the Vivian side of things, with lots of room for some Charah fluff and family good times.

* * *

"_I'd like to see my father, please."_

"_We've really got to get you a more cheerful outlook on life." _

"_I'm just vibrating with positivity over here."_

"_Take him away."_

* * *

The sun rose. Birds chirped, as they often do at that hour of day.

Chuck lay in bed, warmer on one side than the other, but today he wasn't wrapped in Sarah's arms as he so often was. He reached out a hand, and found her not far from him, but something was wrong. He ran his hand over her body, the planes, the curves, especially the curves, and then his sleeping mind caught up.

It wasn't the shape–well, for some things it was the shape–it was the texture. Not skin, not one of his T-shirts, not even a nightgown.

He rolled over, eyes shut, and brought a second hand into play. What a delightful puzzle she was. Waist, hips, upper thigh. Aha, that was definitely skin.

"I'll let you keep doing that, but you'll have to buy me breakfast later," mumbled Sarah.

"Maybe I should make you breakfast now," said Chuck, kissing her neck. "Sounds like we'll both need our strength."

She rolled over and pinned him to the bed, both with her body and with a patented Sarah glare, probably more frightening. "You've got quite strength enough, I'd say, and if you think you're going to wake me up like that and then just walk away, I'll take _you_ back to see Dreyfus this time."

"Sounds like somebody didn't get a good night's sleep," said Chuck. "That's what happens when you sleep in your party dress. They have these things called zippers…"

Sarah leaned down and kissed him while he demonstrated. When she sat back up she found she was bare to the waist. "Wow, you geeks _are_ good," she said, pulling her arms free.

He sat up and kissed her back. "Nerds," he said afterward, and in between, "We prefer nerds." He rolled her back over, and suddenly she was bare to her knees. "Let me show you why."

* * *

For the umpteenth time, Vivian flicked a glance at her companion.

"Is something the matter, ma'am?" he asked.

"No," she replied. "It's just that…you bear an uncanny physical resemblance to an American agent of my acquaintance. Lose the mustache and you'd be him to the life."

"So that's why you plucked it." Impersonation possibilities revealed themselves. "Interesting."

"He used to be known as Agent Charles Charles, of the CIA."

Or perhaps a beard. Shaving his head sounded increasingly attractive. "Perhaps madam would prefer a different bodyguard?"

'You cannot conquer your fear unless you experience fear,' as her father used to say. Her real father, not that physical shell. Agent Charles may have breathed more easily that Winterbottom still lived, but he was a murderer in her eyes. "No," she said again, her rising anger overcoming her fear. "I think you'll suit my needs quite well, Mr. Carmichael."

"Very good, ma'am," he said. "Then as your guard let me remind you that the First Bank of Macau caters to all of the high crime syndicates and organizations. If you show weakness they will eat you alive, and I cannot go beyond the gate."

"I thought they knew you."

"They do, but that cuts both ways. I'm what is known in these parts as 'rental meat'. They won't even acknowledge me directly. My reputation gets you to the gate, but no further."

"Yet you seem quite knowledgeable."

"I've escorted a number of persons to these offices, ma'am. Including Georgeanna Huxley."

Her father had coached her extensively on possible rivals and allies. "I've never heard of her."

"My point exactly," said Mr. Carmichael. "If you fail their tests no one will ever hear of you, either."

* * *

Chuck settled back on his side of the bed as Sarah pushed herself upright with trembling arms. "Oh, Mr. Bartowski," she groaned. "You have just…redefined the word 'quickie'."

"Only in the kitchen," he said, tapping his head.

"You're telling me the Intersect has breakfast chef skills in it too?" said Sarah incredulously, picking up a perfectly cooked slice of bacon. "Look at all this!"

Chuck shifted the tray onto her lap and stole the bacon from her fingers with his teeth while he was at it.

"Hey, get your own," said Sarah.

"I did," said Chuck, after a proper bacon-appreciating interval. "You took that from my plate."

She looked at him suspiciously. "How much of this is for you?"

He took his plate, and one of the glasses of juice.

"Thank God, I'm starving!" She started in on the rest of the tray.

"You didn't come home for dinner last night," said Chuck. "I thought Hannah would have fed you."

"Oh, she did," said Sarah, after she drained her juice glass. "But Carina was there too, and she brought Zondra with her."

"I sense a cat-related pun coming up."

"That name was _not_ our idea," snapped Sarah. Well, as much as one can snap with a mouthful of scrambled eggs. Chuck grabbed a napkin and wiped off the bits that sprayed his way while she swallowed. "Sorry. No, no catting about, not with two of us spoken for."

Chuck pointed at the crumpled dress. "Clubbing? Partying until all hours?"

She made a face. "You weren't there. This was just us, you know, being _us_ again. Normally we like to hang around coffee bars and scare the shadowy figures, but this time we did a good bit of fence-mending."

"Oh, yeah, your so-called friend Amy."

"Who you knew was a traitor and let her lead you into a trap _anyway_." She stabbed a slice of melon and started chewing it into submission.

"Zondra wouldn't have believed me if I'd just told her, although Casey did," said Chuck. "I was your husband, of course I couldn't be trusted to be impartial about that. I had to let Amy have her moment." After a moment or two where the only clattering of silverware was his own, he looked up.

Sarah sat there looking at him, eyes glistening. "You walked into a trap for me?" Zondra was one of the few friends Sarah had, and now had again.

He reached out a hand and caught a tear. "Us, wife. Us."

* * *

On the other side of the world…

When Mr. Carmichael walked in the door of the First Bank of Macau, underlings took notice, and word spread quickly. Guillermo Chan himself came out to deal with his newest guests. "I'm afraid we are not accepting new accounts," he said to Vivian.

"I'm already an account holder," she replied. Carmichael, playing his part, held out Miss Volkoff's card to one of Mr. Chan's underlings, who delivered it to his superior.

Mr. Chan scanned it. "We had heard rumors that this account had changed hands. We expected someone to come and claim it before this."

"I knew my father's account was safe here, Mr. Chan. I had some…housekeeping chores to attend to first. You understand."

He understood. Transitions could be messy. He bowed slightly, and gestured. "This way, Miss Volkoff." He would lead this new and potentially valuable client personally. Carmichael took up an alert stance, but she never looked back.

* * *

In the kitchen de Bartowski…

"Mom?" asked Chuck in surprise, as he and Sarah came out of their room, ready for the day. "What are you doing? You're our guest, you shouldn't be making your own breakfast."

"Chuck, I've had servants making my breakfast every day for the last twenty years," said Mary. "And your soundproofing isn't complete." Any excuse to leave the room next door was a good one.

"Ah," gurgled Chuck, turning red. Sarah continued past him as he fumbled with a suddenly-tight collar. "Um…"

Mary ignored his discomfort. "It's honestly a bit refreshing to find out that I still know my way around a kitchen." The smoke alarm started beeping, and Mary turned back to her work. "Chort vozmi."

Chuck turned away , more than willing to break up the uncomfortable scene, and saw his wife at the table, scanning little pieces of paper. "What's that, Sarah?" he asked, walking over.

"Reports, Chuck," she said quietly. "Notices of reprimand for guards we don't have. Your mother must have walked the perimeter last night." In her sleep. She looked over her shoulder. "At least she's not armed. What if that guy down the street decided to walk his dog?"

"Don't worry," said Chuck, with a calming wave of his hand. "I'll take care of it."

"You'll take care of what?" asked Mary, coming towards them with a tray in her hands.

Chuck turned around. "Security logs," he said quickly, feeling Sarah slide up behind him, slipping the papers in his back pocket. "They need to be reviewed and Sarah wasn't here yesterday, so I was just saying I'd take care of them, and let the two of you catch up."

"Sounds lovely," said Mary, putting the tray down, as Chuck left the area. "Sarah, have you eaten yet?"

Sarah was spared the necessity of answering by the triple-chime of an incoming connection, in the living room. Since the division between the living and dining spaces of their house was basically imaginary, they all heard it very well. "One second."

Mary followed, so all three of them were there when General Beckman's image came through. "Agents Bartowski," she said, as if pleased that three greetings could be efficiently summed up in so few words, "I'm sorry to intrude on your family time, but we have a situation in England."

"Hydra?" asked Chuck.

"Hartley?" said Mary.

Beckman nodded. "Hartley Winterbottom's transport was attacked last night, and he was extracted by hostile forces–"

"General, we have to get him back!"

"Relax, Chuck," said the General. "SIS reacquired him within minutes, unconscious in a doorway. Unharmed, aside from the usual injuries from the extraction itself, but he'd been shot with a tranq dart."

"Do we know what happened to him?" asked Mary.

"No. He was very confused when he regained consciousness and has only become more agitated and upset since. They were forced to sedate him. He mentioned a woman."

"Vivian?"

"Almost certainly." A grainy picture from some security footage appeared on the screen. "This was taken just hours before the incident."

"She's looking for her father," said Sarah. It's what she would have done.

"But then why did she leave him?" wondered Chuck.

"He didn't know her," said Frost, remembering Vivian's desperate question on board the Contessa. "His memories of Volkoff are gone."

Beckman looked grim. "That appears to be correct. Specialists in MI5 attempting to debrief him report memory loss starting shortly after he would have uploaded the first file, and gradually increasing. Ellie has been correlating the dates with uploads after that. Orion's program appears to have erased Volkoff completely."

"That's awful," said Chuck. Poor Vivian. The body of someone she loved still walking around, but with what was effectively a different person inside it. No wonder she'd left Hartley behind. "Did I do that?"

Mary put a hand on his shoulder, as Beckman said, "No agent operates alone, Chuck. _We_ did that, Hartley most all, and it gets worse. On an operational front, Vivian herself was last seen in Moscow, but has since dropped off the radar."

* * *

On the vault level of the First Bank of Macau…

"We must stop here, Miss Volkoff."

Vivian looked around. The hall was empty, with just two doors, like an airlock, with a red light over one, while the one they'd just come through was green. "Why?"

Mr. Chan indicated the light. "The hall beyond is occupied. We must wait until it is clear before we can proceed." Just then the light changed. "We may go."

Only once did they encounter another person. A red-lit door popped open, and a man came through, staggering to the far wall and gasping for air. "What do you think you are doing?" asked Mr. Chan severely. "Red doors must remain closed at all times."

"My apologies, Mr. Chan," said the man, "But the halon system went off."

Chan couldn't sound less interested. "So?"

"The respiratory equipment has not been installed. I would have suffocated."

Chan swiped his card on the door, overriding the seal, and the door opened. "An unfortunate accident." The guard accompanying them shoved the technician back into the room, and Chan sealed the door again. He turned to his client, who stared at the door with an expression of grave concern. "As you can see, Miss Volkoff, our client's privacy is paramount."

"Yes, of course," said Vivian. "Thank you."

* * *

In the lab, with Mom...

Once out of the elevator Chuck removed the hood from his mother's head. "Sorry, mom, but until you have your clearances restored…"

"It's all right, Chuck," Mary said. She was so proud. She needed clearance to see her son's job. "Show me."

"Right this way."

The Intersect room was closed, as always, and he put his hand on the scanner with a flourish. The light turned green and the door opened. Chuck waved his mother inside. Mary looked around at the room's paneled walls, the chair where her son did most of his work, the exercise equipment. The cot. "Who's that?"

"Who's what?" said Chuck. "Oh. That's Ellie's assistant. He practically lives here."

Mary dismissed him from her attention. "When I think of the equipment your father started with…" She sighed. "One little screen."

"I wonder sometimes why we have so many," said Chuck, looking around. "It's not like I can see them all."

"Did you ever ask?"

"No. I always figured that, maybe it was for more eyes than just mine, or maybe they didn't know about the paralysis, so they wanted global coverage. Maybe they thought they needed something they could show off to big shots, so they made it look really impressive. Whatever the reason, it looks cool, so I don't care."

His mother smiled. "Spoken like a true nerd. I wish I could see it," she said wistfully.

"It would kill you."

"Okay, that's a downside."

"Plus we don't really use it much anymore. We have other, more lightweight methods to do the same thing, now that I'm out in the field. Since we're all here for the wedding, we're going old school, just for you."

Mary fluffed out imaginary skirts and curtsied. "I'm honored."

"I thought I heard voices," said Ellie, standing by the door. "Hi, mom. Across the hall, little brother. Manoosh, chop chop."

Manoosh flipped off the light blanket. "I was just resting my eyes!" he yelled, rolling off the cot and falling on the floor. "On my way."

"Come on, mom," said Ellie with a smile. "Let me show you where the magic gets made."

* * *

In Macau…

"You have no idea how relieved I was to see you there, Mr. Riley," said Vivian, as Carmichael drove them back to her hotel. "After I saw what they'd done to my father I was afraid I'd lost everyone dear to me."

"Your venture was rash and ill-considered, Vivian," said Riley, who knew only the most mercenary meanings of a word like 'dear' and assumed she meant one of them. "Your father would have been the first to tell you to cut your losses, and take the battle to the people who made you do it." He poured himself a drink from the limo's bar. She could afford it now. "At least one good thing came of it." He took a sip.

"And what would that be, Mr. Riley?"

Ah, the good stuff. "Clearly they haven't cracked Hydra yet. They have no reason to keep your father so closely held otherwise."

"He's not my father!" said Vivian. "He's a spineless little worm, who dreamed he was a man."

"If you say so, Vivian," said Riley, ever willing to stay on her good side. "But he's a spineless worm who's the key to Hydra. As long as they don't yet have it, that means we can get it back."

"And do what with it? Isn't Hydra as useless to us as it is to them, without my father to unlock it?" And how foolish was she to let him go, when she had him in her grasp.

"I don't believe so," said Riley. "We have one thing they haven't got."

"What's that?"

"You. If there's any hope of bringing out whatever scraps of your father may yet linger inside Mr. Winterbottom, it lies with you."

Of course it did. "We have to get him back."

Riley sighed. "That will be much harder to do, a second time. Much more planning, and a lot more money."

She'd already used up most of her money. "_Time_ is one thing I have in abundance."

Riley reached into his pocket, and pulled out a plastic card. "And funds, Miss. Your father planned for you, in every way."

She looked at the card, so like the other one. "His fortune?"

"Of course," said Riley. "Not everything he did went into Hydra. He also had a few more, hmm, speculative ventures in the pipeline. He tended to scatter those."

"Anything useful to us?" Something to destroy all my enemies, leave me safe and untouchable forever?

"One, if it works. Something he called the Norseman."

Significant, or not? The Americans use a random name generator, so enemies can't learn anything about their operations from the name. "What is it?"

"I have no idea." Not that Riley ever let a little thing like that stop him. "We have to check everything. His compound, his offices. If it's real he'd have left something for us to find."

"And while we're sifting through debris, the CIA gets the business and our rivals get our markets," said Vivian. "I'm not in love with your plan."

"I'm a lawyer, not a businessman." He needed, and got, another drink.

"Well, I am a businesswoman, Mr. Riley, and if there's one thing I know about business–"

_Alexei brushed a smudge on Frost's cheek. "Vivian, what have I told you about business?"_

Vivian stared at the card in her hand. "It's like war."

"What?"

"Business, Mr. Riley," said Vivian softly. "As my father often said, it's like war."

Riley spread his hands, careful not to spill. "Which helps us how?"

"There are lots of ways to win a war, Mr. Riley, some more useful than others," she said contemplatively.

"What do you have in mind?" said Riley. "I may not have veto power, but I think I deserve a chance to provide input."

"It's very simple, Mr. Riley. We're going to let Agent Charles win it for us."

* * *

**A/N2 **I got the idea for the red-lit doors from the great Sarah-centered fanfic 'Becoming'. I have no idea where Mr. Carmichael came from or what he will do. Vivian had a mustached Chuck as her bodyguard in canon, so I gave her one here, but he isn't Chuck. He's just a guy who looks like Chuck with a mustache, who also happens to be named Carmichael.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N** I forced myself to fast forward through The Wedding Planner episode, truly an awful experience. Team B does some ugly work there, in the name of national security.

* * *

"_We prefer nerds." _

"_Your soundproofing isn't complete." _

"_We're going old school."_

"_It's like war."_

* * *

In Ellie's lab…

The room was amazingly empty. Back when her husband had been just starting out, computers that did so much less were far bulkier. Only the number of monitors gave any hint of the work being done. "So this is it?"

Ellie smiled. "Doesn't look like much, does it? The servers are elsewhere, but unless you like cold rooms full of black boxes, there's not a lot to see there."

Mary peeked behind a door and saw a standard hospital bed. "So, what is there to see here?"

"Well…" Ellie looked around. "First, there's your son, my brother, the centerpiece of this whole operation, sitting here, shirtless and shivering, until I can do his physical."

"Every time?"

"Every time. He's our one test subject, we need every data point we can get. Especially now, with him going out into the field."

Chuck spread his arms invitingly.

"You hate it too, don't you?" said Mary.

Chuck's smile faltered. "Guys?"

"He shot a man!" said Ellie.

"I'd be more upset with him if he hadn't, that's no way to support your team" said Mary. She looked Chuck over fondly. "I'm most worried about men shooting him."

"Hellooo," caroled Chuck, waving his arms. "Shirtless guy here."

"Well, I'm not," said Ellie, picking up her tools. "Not as long as Sarah's out there with him." She stuck the stethoscope against his chest .

"Ah, cold, cold," gasped Chuck.

"Blame her," said Ellie. "She's distracting me."

Mary took the hint and watched quietly as her daughter quickly ran down her checklist.

"Well, one good thing from all that training," said Ellie when she finished, "You're in much better physical shape than you used to be. Okay." She handed him his shirt. "Back across the hall."

"I'm really glad you're back, Mom," said Chuck as he buttoned. "You see what I have to put up with? The tyranny, the autocratic control, the tin-plated dictator with delusions of–"

"Button as you walk, Chuck," said Mary. "Chop, chop."

Chuck walked away, grumbling. "I've gotta get some _male_ authority figures in my life."

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

Ellie and Mary smiled together, while Manoosh wisely kept his head down. "Okay, Mom," said Ellie, "My desk is set up as a secondary control station, so you can watch from here if you like. I can run things from the booth." Not that she wanted to, cramped and alone. Or more cramped, but with company. In here she and Manoosh could spread out and have the best of both worlds.

Mary had had enough of being away from her children. "Can I watch with you?"

"Sure, love the company." Ellie led her mother to a special locked room, and opened the door.

"Cozy." Mary say a few monitors above the panel, but nothing more. "Didn't you ever wish for a window?"

"Thought about it," said Ellie, taking her seat. "But then I figured it would just be a distraction. Everything I need to see I can see." She activated some of the screens. "Remote biometrics and the scanner, body and mind." Thermal imaging showed the only heat source in the room in a seated posture, about where the chair would be. Ellie clicked a button, and a little inset window showed Chuck sitting there. She flicked it out again.

"What about heart and soul?"

"Not my department." Thank God. "She's at Hannah's wedding."

* * *

"Come in."

Sarah opened the door and stepped inside. She looked at her best non-spy friend, standing in front of the mirror in her gown, staring at herself. She looked poised, steady, confident. "Scared?"

"Terrified," gasped out Hannah. "You can tell? Of course you can tell, you're a spy."

"The death grip on your bouquet is a bit of a giveaway," said Sarah, indicating the whitened knuckles of Hannah's hands. "And for the record, I was pretty terrified at my wedding too."

"You were not," said Hannah. "I was there, I saw you. You were glowing, you were about to explode!"

"That was the ceremony," said Sarah, smiling at the memory of that short walk. "The wedding was another story. I had no idea how to be a woman, much less a wife. I was so scared I couldn't even think about it, until you showed up. All that explosive happiness?" Sarah stabbed a finger at her BFF. "Your fault."

Pre-wedding jitters shrank, and shrank some more. "The ceremony after the wedding, and the proposal after the ceremony," said Hannah with a laugh. All the reports from the Volkoff mission had, naturally, passed through her hands. "You are not normal."

Sarah lost the smile. "I'm working on it." At least Hannah was calmer.

Someone knocked on the door. "Time, ladies, please."

Sarah knew that voice, even muffled through the door. She turned and opened it with spy speed.

A man stood on the other side of the doorway, tall, distinguished. He chuckled. "We're not in that much of a rush."

"Sarah, I'd like you to meet our wedding coordinator," said Hannah, coming up from behind with a rustle of cloth. "After that fiasco with Ms. Peralta we really did our homework. Mr. Burton here came highly recommended, from a congressman, no less. Mr. Burton, this is Sarah Bartowski, my matron of honor."

Jack Burton took his daughter's hand like the complete stranger he was. "Charmed."

* * *

_Oh, yes, the wedding. _Where all of them would be, but for this. Her kids knew their duty when it called. "What's this one for?" Mary asked, pointing to a blank screen.

"That's for the upload itself, just a screen, no emitters or anything. I usually leave it off, it gives me a headache."

"Can I see it?"

"Be my guest." Ellie turned it on for her. "Manoosh, status?"

"Dataset encryption complete and loaded, panels are green across the board," said her assistant, followed by, "Batteries to power, turbines to speed."

"What?' said Ellie, confused at the addition.

"Batman," muttered Mary, and she leaned closer to the pickup. "Roger, ready to move out."

Ellie flicked off the speaker in the middle of Manoosh's happy chuckle. "Really, Mom, you're as bad as the children."

Worse. "In my case it's pure self-defense."

"From what?" asked Ellie with a laugh.

"Russian TV."

Ellie's smile turned into something less smile-like. "Okay." She activated the speaker. "Upload commencing."

The screen in front of Mary lit up, images pouring across it with bewildering complexity, no story to them, no rhyme or reason. Dancing girls and nuclear explosions shared the screen with car chases and puppy shows. Mary's head started to hurt, trying to impose sense on the senseless.

"Look at this, Mom," said Ellie, and Mary turned away from the painfully hypnotizing mix.

The biometrics were up, thermal imaging showing the man moving only a little. The scanner was the real marvel. The lines in it expanded, bookshelves filling with every encyclopedia ever written, and maybe the OED for kicks.

"Watch this," said Ellie, and she clicked the mouse.

The screen colored, alpha waves, betas, and all. And a fifth wave, strangely regular, except when it wasn't. Some part of it was always dancing, a frenzy of activity that ended with the frenzied section merging with one of the other waves and the fifth going into a new frenzy somewhere else.

Ellie gestured at the screen she didn't want to look at. "Images." She tapped the monitor, where the latest frenzy was scrambling. "Data."

"What is that?" asked Mary, touching the regular part of the line.

"That is Chuck's brain in self-defense mode," said Ellie, with less than her usual confidence. "We think. Chuck snuck into Dad's lab and saw the upload test when he was nine, so we think this is his brain's response, whole sectors of his brain are active but empty, putting out this–" she tapped the little line, "Carrier wave. These sections only seem to recognize the upload as input, though. Which is good. Normal sensory input would be much harder to erase."

The problem of erasing the data had dominated Mary's life for two decades. "How do you do that?"

"For this, it's easy. We simply upload the inverse signal of the original upload. His brain imprints that and goes back to normal." But Ellie knew that wasn't what her mother really wanted to know. "Hartley's case was much more complicated. The singletons he got were all uploaded as test cases for different versions of the code. Once Mrs. Winterbottom got those files to us Dad, Manoosh, and I were able to make a program that looked for each one. It's hopelessly ugly code but we only needed it to work once."

The board beeped, and the third screen went blank again. Ellie leaned toward the mike. "Chuck, how are you feeling?"

The thermal image shifted into a more reclining posture. "Same old, same old." The arms moved. Ellie turned on the visual again and they saw he was putting on headphones.

"Go to it."

* * *

What was her father up to? He'd never pulled this sort of scam before, to her knowledge, and knowing the experience from the inside, she was glad of it. Ruining the start of a couple's lives together for profit must surely be one of the most heinous things a human being could do. She couldn't even imagine doing it for her country, much less for money.

That her own father appeared to have become such a predator…

No wonder he'd stayed 'behind the scenes', letting Ellie take such a lead role in the arrangements. He didn't even have to pay her. He'd actually offered a discount for all of her unpaid help. That should have been a red flag, at least it would have been to the Sarah she used to be.

Used to be. She liked the sound of that.

Now was not the time. Hannah needed her matron of honor, but the matron of honor needed Ellie. Who wasn't here and wouldn't be. Sarah pasted a smile on her face as she took her position. The good thing about her father was, until the shoe dropped, everything would look one hundred percent.

All she had to do was not ruin the day herself, while she tried to keep the other shoe from dropping.

* * *

"Amazing. Absolutely incredible," said Mary, as they sat in Ellie's office.

"I know," said Ellie. "It takes some getting used to."

"How fast can he _type_?"

"As fast as his fingers can move. It's probably the skill set he uses most." Ellie shifted her monitor, so they could see the words as they scrolled up, too fast to read.

Mary pointed at one sentence. "Why is that one in bold?"

Ellie didn't look. The moving text gave her a headache too. "The Intersect is really Chuck's brain collating the data around his sensory input, what Dad calls the seed. In the old days he had to be there, in the danger zone, to get that input, but now we have the reports sent in with images. A sentence in bold indicates a flash that had no image to go on."

"Worthless?"

"No, just the opposite, if it makes a flash by itself. Manoosh keeps a stockpile of clip art and other images, so he matches up a set from keywords in Chuck's flash and feeds them into the stream. If Chuck gets a hit–"

* * *

Sarah's clutch started to buzz, with the hum of a low-level alert. She pressed the button through the thin fabric, unnoticed by all attending. It wasn't a Klingon-style wedding, the preferred style at Comic Cons everywhere nowadays, but it held the attention of those who'd gathered for _this_ couple. It was _their_ style, and that's what mattered.

Her team would have to do without her for now. She had her own mission to accomplish, for this part of the team.

* * *

"Let me guess, this happens?" said Mary over the alarms, pointing at the air.

"Not usually," said Ellie. "Manoosh, prepare the download!"

Mary's face went blank. "You can download Chuck's brain?"

"No," said Ellie, with a laugh. She held out a hand, palm up. "We have the upload, so the inverse signal is really an anti-upload." She held up her other hand, palm down. "It's just easier to say 'down' than 'anti-up' all the time."

The monitor chimed, and Ellie and Mary put on their professional faces as General Beckman's face appeared. "Doctor, Frost," she said, indicating the gravity of the situation. No one would ever call Mary 'Frost' for any other reason.

Another window opened. "John Casey reporting," said Casey, for the benefit of those who may have only had audio.

Another inset appeared. "Manoosh here." Ellie and Mary heard that in stereo, since he was not that far away. He drew the curtain that separated his area. They could still hear him, but this way they'd have no feedback issues.

Another window, blank but with a big red (and to Ellie's mind probably appropriate) 'X' drawn across it, indicating a privacy screen in operation. "Miller here."

"Very good," said the General. "I think we can safely assume that Sarah and Hannah will not be joining us at this time. Do we know what caused the alert?"

"Not yet, General, Chuck's still gathering his materials," said Ellie. She toggled her intercom. "Chuck, are you there?"

* * *

"Dad, what are you doing here?" said Sarah quietly, as she danced, for some odd reason, with the wedding coordinator. She'd done her duty, danced the first dance with the Best Man as tradition required. He'd lived up to the title, too, making no attempt to look down her dress or any of the other things she's known men in this situation to try to do. She'd had to pull him in closer, but she made sure he'd have an experience she wouldn't mind him sharing with the analyst's pool. She'd even enjoyed it, and didn't try to keep that fact a secret. He worked up the nerve to ask for another, and she was minded to give it to him, but she had something she needed to do first.

"I'm dancing with my daughter."

Sarah pressed hard with just a few fingers against her father's back, and he gasped, but neither of them stopped moving. "Your daughter is also a Federal Agent, a wife, and a best friend," she growled quietly, "And if you ruin _my_ best friend's wedding you will find out just how much I like being an officer of the law."

"Okay, sweetheart, take it easy," said Jack. "I told you, I'm just here to dance with my daughter, Mrs. Charles 'Schnook' Bartowski, at her wedding."

How sweet. "It's not my wedding."

"I pretend for a living," he said. "You didn't tell me you'd gotten married."

Using CIA resources to track him down would have been a few different kinds of illegal. "So how'd you find out?"

"The grapevine, or corn-vine, or whatever they have out in Oklahoma. I found out someone had taken down a 'colleague' of mine in LA, a real bad apple by name of Daphne Peralta."

Sarah raised a brow. "You're calling someone else a bad apple?"

"She specialized in bogus weddings." He frowned and waved a hand, indicating the venue they were dancing in. "The only thing 'stars in their eyes' meant to her was that they wouldn't see her hand in their pockets. I hoped she maybe tried that with you and the schnook, and got what she deserved."

Sarah imagined the possibility, and set it against the actuality. "Our wedding was…unscripted."

Jack snorted. "Now I wish I'd been there. Improv isn't really your thing. Anyway, the more I heard, the stranger it got. Daphne went down big time, evidence everywhere for scams going back years. But no go-bag. That just didn't add up for a predator as sharp as she was."

Okay so far. "So how'd you end up here?"

"I went to LA, and found out you'd skipped town. Found your name on one of the guest lists taken in evidence, but the happy couple had skipped town too. Not hard to figure out where. They were still looking around, and I had a congressman's son who owed me a favor."

Have to hunt that guy down later. "So what's your angle?"

Her father smiled. "No angle." He sent her into a spin, then pulled her in close. "This is your wedding present."

"_My_ present?"

"You said 'best friend', and so did she. I know all the cons…"

Light bulb. "So you kept her from being a sucker."

He nodded, looking around at his handiwork. "She'll get everything she asked for and a few extras besides. Maybe I'll send some photos to brighten Daphne's cell."

Sarah laughed. "If you could do all this on Hannah's budget, maybe you should go legit."

He smiled back, eyes crinkling fondly. "Not a chance. Too much like work."

* * *

A picture of a glass-and-steel skyscraper dominated the screen. "This is the–"

"First Bank of Macau," said Mary. "A front for the Guan-Yi Crime syndicate. It handles money for a variety of criminal organizations. The guards are really mercenaries."

"Exactly right," said Chuck. A second picture appeared, banks of servers. "Chinese military-grade computers, reported within the bank of Macau."

"By who?" asked Beckman. "We've lost agents trying to infiltrate."

"Unknown, General, but many of these computers have been reported stolen. Electrical use at the bank is way up, lots of thermals everywhere as they try to bleed off the heat, and I found some construction documents for shielding materials. With blood on them."

Beckman nodded. "Signs of a major operation, and it looks like it's about to go live, if it hasn't already. I'll forward this to Langley, but I need some best guesses right now."

"New money wouldn't require that much infrastructure. New accounts might, but there aren't that many criminals in the world to justify this expense," said Chuck.

"_Movement_ of money would."

"Mom?"

"I've been working with a businessman for two decades, Chuck. An economy isn't just money, it's money in motion. People buying and selling." She pointed at the screen. "Lots to keep track of, who contributed how much, to which account. _That_ is funding for terrorists, mercenaries. Arms, drugs, you name it. Criminal operations and money laundering on a global scale."

"A treasure-trove of useful intel, if we can get into it ourselves," said Casey.

"If we can't get in there in secret we may as well not bother," said Chuck. "They'll just close up shop. And the bad guys have to believe they _can_ keep us out, or they wouldn't go in. They'll be on the lookout for someone like me."

"Sounds like we need to get inside their perimeter."

"I heard the word 'mercenaries', if no one else did," said Carina.

Beckman nodded. "The incursion would have to appear legitimate. Chuck, would it be possible to create an account holder of our own?"

"Not unless we already _had_ an account holder of our own, General," said Chuck. "Bit of a Catch-22 there."

"You just find me an account holder, Chuckles," said Carina, "And I'll grab his assets faster than you can say 'cheap'–"

"Date," said Ellie.

"Booze," said Chuck.

"Scotch," said Casey, technically a duplicate. "Nuts."

"You're all wrong," said Carina. "It's 'trick'."

"Um…" said Mary.

"Whoops. Sorry, Mrs. B, did you want to play?"

Mary smiled, so nice to be wanted. "No, Agent Miller. I just wanted to say that this is one mission where all your skills won't help you at all."

"Is that a dare?" Hard to tell if she was angry or eager.

"No, Carina," said Chuck. "It's a statement of fact."

Now she was definitely more angry. "You're just taking her side 'cause she's your mother."

Mary shook her head, and held up a small acrylic card. "No, Carina, he's taking my side because …you're not my type."

* * *

**A/N2 **No way Vivian would help Chuck, and I needed an account holder. Frost seemed like a good bet.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N **Okay, back to work.

* * *

"_So this is it?" _

"_You're as bad as the children."_

"_You can download Chuck's brain?" _

"_You're not my type."_

* * *

Ellie goggled at the strange creature that looked like her mother. "This place is like, like, Evil, Incorporated! And you have an account there?"

"Of course. Anywhere Alexei Volkoff could go, I had to be able to go, too. Having my own card was the only way they would let us in together, they're very strict."

Casey rumbled a laugh. "I can imagine. Their customers have their own ways of dealing with bounced checks."

"And the bank has ways of dealing with bounced customers," said Mary. "It's not just agents who sometimes don't come out."

"And you want to go in there?" asked Ellie. "They have to know you're CIA by now."

"They did then, I made no secret of it," said Mary with a shrug. "In some ways the criminal world is the more honest world."

"I guess it's a good thing the Powers That Be have been slow to reactivate you," said Beckman, testing out a cover story. "If you're on the run from us as well as Volkoff you'll need whatever funds are there."

"Oh, there aren't any," said Frost. "I just got the account to be a member."

"Yeah, but do they know that?" asked Casey.

"Probably," she said. "They have to know I've never accessed the account. I always went in with Alexei."

"I can give you a record of visits," said Chuck. "Easier than inserting a false user."

Mary shook her head. "They escort all their important clients personally."

"Great," said Casey with a grunt. "Then we're still SOL. May as well not have an account there at all."

Chuck's face went slack, and his eyelids fluttered.

"Chuck…?" asked his mother.

"Not to worry, Mom. He's flashing," said Ellie.

Eventually Chuck rejoined them. "Out of the mouths of Caseys…" he said.

"What'd I say?" Casey didn't mind provoking a flash but being compared to a babe was sort of annoying.

Chuck ignored him. "Mom, you said they were strict. How strict?"

"Failure to follow their rules is usually punished by death."

Chuck got wide-eyed. "So when you say 'strict, you mean, like, underlined, italicized, all-in-bold 'strict'." Then he put on his back-to-business face. "What are the procedures?"

"They have a DNA sample on file. Access is for card-holders only, no personal guards. Even as a cardholder, I had to get a special dispensation from the Chairman to go in with Alexei. They have the interior carefully rigged so cardholders never see each other. Even in the room you have a guard with you. When you finish, he signals a bank officer to escort you out."

"So cardholders never meet?" Not a question, a request for confirmation.

"Not on the vault level. It reduces the chance that someone will do something foolish, that might involve the bank."

"What about outside?"

"They don't care what we do to each other, as long as it doesn't draw attention to them. I've helped Alexei swallow lots of their smaller customers."

"So they only care if you act against the interests of the bank? Have you ever done that?"

"Obviously not, I'm still alive. Even Alexei couldn't have protected me."

Chuck's voice changed, becoming more melodramatic. "And he can't now, either. That's why you're trying to get back in the CIA, all those bad guys looking for revenge."

"Yes, and…?" Mary made a hand gesture, inviting him to be a little less goddamn cryptic.

"Your reinstatement's being held up due to your known association with the bank. You have to close it out. The bank will be happy too, since you'll be removing an association with the good guys. Everybody wins."

Mary made an _Aha!_ face. "And while I'm in there, I plant a black box that inserts a tracking code into their data stream. With a guard watching."

"We'll stage a diversion."

"What kind?" asked Carina.

"The kind that lets you keep your clothes on, Miller," growled Casey.

"The kind that makes a lot of noise," said Chuck, "And should pull all the guards to the source. We are going to rob a bank."

* * *

Elsewhere, at a reception hall…

Sarah took the microphone for her speech. "Hi. For those of you who don't know me, my name is Sarah. I am the matron of honor and Hannah's best friend, which I think is horribly unfair but I'm sure you all know what she'll do if I tell her she can do better than me."

"Don't put yourself down," said many people, from different parts of the room.

Sarah nodded. "So here I am. I want to start off by saying that every once in a while… two people meet, and you know it's meant to be. You know instantly that the stars have aligned, and their paths would bring them together regardless what the world may throw their way. But enough about them." She waved a casual hand at the main table, and Hannah laughed.

"Looking back over the years, and remembering when I first met Hannah, it truly amazes me that something that seems so minor, such a simple thing as an airplane falling out of the sky… could change my life forever. Hannah may tell you that I have saved her life, and she may even tell you how, if your clearance is high enough, but what she won't tell you is how she saved mine.

"And neither will I. I can't. She saved my life by inspiring me to claim my life, to live it, and that is what I do, each and every day, thanks to her." Sarah turned to Hannah.

"You are the best friend a girl could ever ask for. Since the day we met you have been there for me, and I will always be there for you. I don't know where I would be without my best friend–well, actually I do know, and it isn't pretty–but I also know that standing here today… on your wedding day … is exactly where I'm supposed to be. "

From her seat at the main table, Sarah's clutch emitted the much more annoying squeal of a second-stage alert. "But I guess not any more."

Everyone turned and watched as Hannah grabbed for the bag and made the appropriate responses to quiet the sound. Hannah tossed the clutch to its owner. "Go save the world for me, Sarah."

Sarah caught the bag, and said, "Deal." She handed the microphone to the person who was nearest, turned and walked away, to polite but confused applause.

The wedding planner opened the door for her. "I'll send you everything," her father promised as she passed. "The gods will dance tonight."

Sarah's smile lasted all the way out to valet station, the parking lot, and into her car and some privacy. "Did you inherit your father's bad-timing gene, Ellie?" she practically shouted into the phone. "I was in the middle of my speech, I hadn't even gotten to the groom's part yet–"

"Sarah, get back here now."

Sarah put her emotions back in the box. Ellie usually didn't try that 'bossy' stuff on her, and this wasn't supposed to be a mission day, so something must have gone sideways. Again. "What's going on?"

"Chuck's going to Macau, to rob the First Bank of Evil, Incorporated. You've got to do something."

Sarah snapped her car and herself into gear. "Oh, I'll do something, all right. I'll kick his ass if he thinks he's going without me. You tell him that. I'm on my way."

* * *

Later, in Moscow…

"The house will be ready by tomorrow night," said Riley.

"Yes, but will we be ready?" asked Vivian. She could wait, but it seemed like she'd been waiting a long time already. All her life.

"Your little hint may have been too subtle."

Vivian shook her head, absolutely confident. "Not for him."

* * *

Later still, in Macau…

Her escort was different, this time, unknown to all the staff, who were trained to notice such things. She walked into the bank as she had a hundred times before, but if her manner was a little less assured, a bit more harried and circumspect, well, they were equally trained _not_ to notice such things. The loud beeping that came from the metal detector as he entered after her was harder to ignore.

"Stop," said the guard.

He didn't stop, until Frost turned and held up a hand.

"Step through the scanner again," said the guard. He nodded politely to the cardholder. "We were unable to get an accurate count."

Frost flicked her fingers. The burly man grunted in disgust. "Seven," he said, taking a step backward.

"Thank you," said the guard to the woman, as his scanner completed its threat assessment and updated all the other stations.

By the time they reached the gate Mr. Chan was already there. He dismissed her bodyguard with barely a glance. "Ms. Frost."

Mary nodded at him. "Mr. Chan."

"What is your business here?"

"I've come to close my account." Casey handed the plastic card over, but this time Mr. Chan placed it in his own pocket after scanning it.

"A wise choice," he said. "Come with me. We will verify the contents of your box, and then you will leave here, never to return."

* * *

Outside, monitoring the progress...

"They let him keep his weapons?" asked Carina, as they geared up in the van.

"None of them are automatic, so the guards won't care," said Sarah. Plus, the most important one had already gone off.

Carina stopped to look at all the weapons they were draping about themselves. "I hate to tell you, Sarah, but none of these things are, either."

"Talk to the boss," said Sarah, dismissively, jerking a thumb over her shoulder as she checked the mechanism of her fourth backup.

Carina looked. "The boss, huh? You mean the guy with the stocking on his head?"

Sarah turned to look. Her husband did indeed have a stocking over his head. "Take that off, those are for later."

Chuck grabbed the material and started to pull. "I didn't know," he whined. "I thought you were getting all, you know, traditional."

"None for me, thanks," said Carina. "Hat hair and bedhead have nothing on stocking hair."

"And don't stretch them," snapped Sarah.

"Well, at least we know who wears the stockings in _your_ house," said Carina as Chuck stopped stretching them.

"She does," said Chuck, folding the delicate nylon. "I don't have the legs for it. So," he looked back and forth between them, "We're going with the new traditional, sunglasses and bad attitudes?"

"Take my word for it. Chuckles," said Carina, putting on her glasses, "No one's going to be looking at our attitudes."

* * *

In the vault area...

The door slid open, and Mr. Chan waved his unwelcome and soon-to-be-gone guest into the room. "You will open your box and take your possessions, we will certify it empty, and then, you will go." He walked up to the box and entered his half of the code key.

She followed somewhat more slowly, but not so much as to be obvious about it. "Then this won't take very long."

Just…long enough.

* * *

In the lobby...

The two women who walked in the door of the bank were tall, but the man behind them was taller. Not that anyone noticed. They passed through the metal detectors and the alarms went off. The soldiers gathered to ogle the pair of beauties, as they opened their leather dusters to reveal their bodies, clad in form-fitting leather. Carina had agreed to keep her clothes on, but that didn't mean she was hiding anything. There was supposedly a bit of psychology behind it, but since she'd been modeling the outfit as she talked, Chuck couldn't remember anything she'd said. He remembered Sarah hitting his head, though.

The tall man walked up behind his lovely outriders, put his hands on their shoulders…

And opened fire, his Intersect-driven reflexes making his hands and the tranq guns he held into automatic weapons that no scanner could detect.

The obvious guards fell first, paralyzed even though conscious, and that not for very long. The less obvious guards took a bit longer, as the tall man had to wait a bit for them to reveal themselves. The big guy in the corner was first, quick to draw, slow to aim, but he was by no means the last.

Eventually he ran out of darts, and the two women leapt forward as he dropped behind a desk to reload. The incoming guards opened fire, spraying great destruction around the lobby, none of it coming anywhere close to the intended targets.

* * *

In the vault...

Frost tapped at the pad, as if trying to remember a combination she rarely used. The lid to the box unsealed, and she lifted it. "What?"

The box was filled with bundled hundred-dollar bills. "Two million," said Mr. Chan. "Assuming the box is full and the notes are all the same." He looked at Frost's face, still slack with surprise. "You expected something else?"

"I expected the box to be empty," said Frost. "I never used it."

Mr. Chan reached out and pushed the lid higher. Taped on the inside of the lid was a card, and Mr. Chan opened it. He read it once and handed it to her. 'In case of emergency', it said, 'Love, Alexei.'

"A misplaced devotion," said Mr. Chan. "You will need a case." Had she been a normal cardholder, he'd have fetched it himself, but under the circumstances he decided to send a minion scurrying instead.

The guard behind her tensed, and Mr. Chan's eyes flicked up to meet his. "Go." He entered a code on the console and ran his card over the scanner. Behind them the red-lit door turned green, and the guard backed out.

"What?" asked Frost, as the door closed.

"A small matter," said Mr. Chan. "All doors are sealed for patron safety." Or against patron involvement, perhaps? "I believe you of all people know how to wait for events to play out?"

* * *

Back in the teller area...

The doors were sealed. The safe was sealed. The computers were in lockdown mode. Only the teller area had any loose cash available for plundering, and the tall man walked the counter as the tellers plundered their stations for him. "Let's go, let's go, let's _go!_"

No one had gotten around to noticing the lack of wounds, blood, or any real damage that the guards hadn't wreaked themselves, and they were encouraged to keep on not noticing. Occasionally a shot would ring out, as the two women kept the patrons properly compliant.

"Wow, sweetie," said Chuck mildly. Sarah had become a bit of a potty-mouth all of a sudden. "What's gotten into you?"

"They made me miss the cake!"

Well, at least she was making it work for her. "The fiends." He pointed at a random person behind the counter. "You, keep packing."

"Don't laugh, Chuck," said Carina from across the room. "It looked like a great cake." She kicked the big guy in the leg, rather than move it gently out of her way.

"Not you, too."

"Hey, I missed the whole damn thing!"

The stopwatch on Chuck's phone went off. "On the ground, now," he barked at the tellers, and they all fell to their knees. He jumped off the counter, snatched up the bags full of paper, and turned to his comrades. "Grab one."

Sarah snagged a man, while Carina grabbed a young woman, and Chuck rolled his eyes. "Fine, one _each_." He fell in between his partners, shielded on both sides as one hostage went out the door first, and the other brought up the rear.

Outside the doors, a car squealed up to the curb as they reached the bottom of the steps. Carina and Sarah popped the doors and forced their hostages inside, while Chuck took the front seat, next to the driver.

"Where are the others?" asked Alex.

"They'll be along in a bit."

"You're just gonna leave my dad in there?"

"Oh, he'll be fine," Chuck assured her. He turned to look back at Carina. "You did wake him up?"

She lifted her leg, showing off the needle at the front of her shoe. "Antagonist delivered."

Chuck gave Alex the thumbs-up. "So how about you show off those fancy federal driving skills I've heard so much about, and get us to the dropoff."

* * *

Mr. Chan surveyed the chaos from above. Heads would roll for this disgrace, and his would be first among them, if revenge was not both brutal and swift. "How many dead?"

"None, sir," said his assistant. "They were all knocked out with some kind of darts." He held out several in his hands.

Chan growled deep in his throat, reminding Mary of her own concerns. "And my man?" she asked.

The underling hadn't been told that she was an Outsider now. "He is over there, one of the first hit."

"Take him and go, Frost," said Mr. Chan.

Mary nodded, and went to check on Casey, who was conscious and not liking it. "Up and at 'em, John, I don't pay you to nap."

Casey wobbled to his feet and took his position, watching her back as they headed out the door. Mr. Chan forgot her immediately, more concerned with bringing the systems back on line, and checking the security footage. Someone would pay for this.

* * *

"All right, out you come," said Sarah, pulling her guy after her as she exited the car. She let him go and hopped into the truck, throwing out some new outfits.

The man stared at the military-style vehicle waiting for the team, and placed himself in front of the second hostage, left behind by Carina. "Where are you taking us?"

"Nowhere," said Chuck, tossing the bags into the truck, and his greatcoat. "Take the car if you want, you're free to go." He pulled on some stained and wrinkled coveralls, with some industrial name.

Alex tossed the keys at the man, but they bounced off his chest and fell to the ground. "What kind of bank robbers are you?" he said.

"Who said we were bank robbers?" said Chuck. "We're agents of the United States Government."

"_Bloody Hell!"_ shouted the man.

The woman stopped cowering behind him. "Do you have any idea what you've just done?"she shouted.

"Saved your lives," said Carina, unzipping her suit right there in the alley. "If we spotted you for MI-6, so did they."

Chuck stepped in front of her as Sarah climbed out of the truck, in a normal business outfit. "We had the same mission, and an inside man." He raised his phone, on speaker. "Talk to us, M. And be polite, we've got guests."

"I'm not M, I'm Q," said Manoosh, and the Brit spies rolled their eyes. "The worm looks like it was deployed in good order. They're bringing their systems back on line now, getting data. If all goes well we'll have their whole operation in under an hour."

"Thanks, Q," said Chuck. "Keep us posted." He smiled at the two 'guests'. "Game, set, match."

Carina stepped out from behind him, in the same leather outfit as before, only bright red. "Say that after we touch down, Agent Charles. It's time to blow this pineapple stand."

"Right." Chuck went to the driver's side of the truck, while everyone else got in the back, dropping the tarp. He waved at the 'hostages'. "Cheerio."

* * *

Outside the bank, Casey handed Mary an earpiece, and she lost no time plugging in. "Graboid, this is Little Tractor, come back."

"Little Tractor, this is Graboid, over."

Under his words she heard a truck rumbling along, that was comforting. "On our way to the rendezvous. Who thought up these stupid codenames?"

"It's completely appropriate! Dirtnap, a little support?"

Mary looked at the hulking Marine Colonel in surprise.

Casey looked apologetic. "He's not lying." He signaled, and their hired car pulled out from where it had been waiting.

"Fine," said spy mother to spy son. Casey got the door. "But you and I are going to have a little chat after the debrief. Little Tractor out."

* * *

Mr. Chan sat in his office, reviewing footage of the brazen attack while the security programs examined each and every aspect of their systems for intrusions. They found none so far, especially not the virus Casey had uploaded into the security system's metal scanner. That was the trickiest part of the operation, but Mr. Chan was already out of his office to confront his unwelcome visitor by the time that initial alert sounded. By the time he got back to his desk there was no trace it had ever happened. Manoosh had been a busy mouse, while this cat had been away.

Not until the systems tried to bring the ATMs online did an alert sound, and Chan immediately stopped to check the hazard. A crude little thing, embedded on the magnetic strip of a plastic card. He pulled up the recordings for that machine.

The girl again. He wondered which agency she worked for, but really it didn't matter. She'd tell them everything, downstairs. Where was she now? He tracked her through the attack, the perfect time for her to do some damage. She tried, but the redhead stopped her every time, with increasing violence as the woman foolishly provoked her. Chan snorted as the time for hostage-taking came, and the woman was dragged away with some other person, her operation blown. He wondered how she would explain it to her superiors, if and when she regained her freedom.

He backtracked the recording. The cameras over the teller area couldn't catch the man's face, he was too tall, but the hostages and the metal detectors forced his path as he left the building, and some of them had caught his face from various angles.

Mr. Chan felt the noose around his neck relax. A simple robbery, daring, but no more. The stolen money, a trifle. The loss of face was great, the loss of the female spy was greater. An example would have to be made, and now he knew who he would make it from.

"Carmichael!"

* * *

Mr. Riley looked out over his audience. "Attention!" he shouted, the words echoing. "Attention, all of you."

The milling sheep looked, as they were told.

When he was satisfied, Riley turned and gestured to the open doorway behind him, Mr. Carmichael taking up a matching position opposite him. A woman walked through the door and past her honor guard, the steady, measured tap of her shoes the only sound. The heels were high, her suit was black and expensive. Her face was cold and still, her eyes were hard. "Alexei Volkoff is no more," she said to them in her accented Russian. "My father is dead."

Everyone reacted, down below. Vivian looked for guilt, but there was none.

"As you all know, I am his heir," she declared, and they settled. She thought of Mr. Charles, and smiled. "You all work for _me_."

* * *

**A/N2** It was funny to see Chuck and Sarah talk about weddings while they were robbing the bank, but really, they couldn't talk about non-mission-related stuff on the plane ride over?


End file.
